


Golden Days

by gemini_melia



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemini_melia/pseuds/gemini_melia
Summary: aka METHod Acting, the Breaking Bad Hollywood!AU that no one asked for.Saul Goodman is a down on his luck talent agent searching for Hollywood’s next big star. Jesse Pinkman, Saul’s latest protege, is an unknown actor set to co-star in Gus Fring’s latest cinematic masterpiece, Baby Blue, across from award-winning method actor Walter White. Will Jesse make it big in Tinseltown or flame out before he gets the chance? Saul is more than willing to show the kid the ropes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [jimmy-mckill](http://jimmy-mckill.tumblr.com/) for feeding the flames of this ridiculous idea.

Saul was relaxed. It was the closest thing to a crisp fall day that LA could manage, and he was nursing his second scotch at an airy little bistro off Sunset. Award season was over and none of his clients had walked away with the gold statue - hell, none of them had even been nominated this year. But no attention was better than the shitstorm that had been his brief stint representing Tila Tequila. That girl needed a lawyer, not an agent, so he’d wiped his hands and turned to his next big lead.

The sound of stilettos on clay tile pulled his gaze from the sun beginning to set over Hollywood hills. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Kim said, sitting down across from him at the little table. Saul always thought Kim Wexler stood out in this city - minimal makeup, dark pantsuits, and no-nonsense ponytails. None of the usual tinseltown flash. Next to his lime green shirt and favorite orange tie, she looked ready for a parent teacher conference. But he’d seen her sock a reporter on the red carpet for asking about her dress, so he understood why she did it. Luckily, as a producer, her time in the spotlight was minimal and that was how she preferred it.

After the waiter came and took her drink order - vodka tonic with lemon - Kim leaned forward, an eager glint in her eye. “So,” she said. “I watched it.”

“And?”

“And? And I love him. I can’t believe no one’s snatched him up already.”

“That’s the problem these days,” Saul said. “All these internet stars - how does one rise above the rest? I was lucky I stumbled across it when I did.”

He wasn’t about to admit it to Kim, but he’d been hard up for clients after the Tila debacle, so he’d spent more than a few evenings trolling the student films on YouTube, sniffing out rich kids who wanted to be actors or auteurs. They were the easiest bait for some quick cash before the kids got bored or their parents sent them off to the east coast for a real career. 

But when Saul had come across this film - a gritty little short by some junior film majors out of USC - he’d stopped. Because this kid had been different. This kid was the real deal, and that was rare in his line of work.

“Seriously, Jimmy,” Kim was saying, practically vibrating with excitement. “He was so expressive and raw! It’s like he was made for this role. You gotta call him in.”

“Already on it. He’s coming in tomorrow.”

“Good. Work your magic, Jimmy, because Gus wants to move fast. He’s seen the tape, too, and wants him to read this week alongside the lead.”

“What Gus Fring wants, Gus Fring gets.” 

Kim chuckled. “Yes he does. And this time he wants...what’s his name again?”

Saul finished off his drink and sat forward. “Jesse Pinkman.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Jesse Pinkman walked into the talent agency of Saul Goodman and Associates, he thought he must have made a mistake. The waiting room’s walls were plastered with Hollywood stars, the large flatscreen at the back was blasting _Access Hollywood_ , and the carpet was actually fucking _red_.

Before Jesse could turn tail and run, he heard his name.

“Mr. Pinkman?” asked a woman sitting behind a sleek desk

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m...here to see Mr. Goodman? He called me…”

“Right this way,” she said, setting down her travel magazine and bouncing to her feet. Jesse followed her down a short hallway. This one was covered with celebrity photographs, each personally autographed to Saul. Jesse may have been new to Hollywood, but he’d lived in LA his whole life. Despite whatever the hell this decor was, he knew what types of clients an agent like Saul Goodman got. He’d be lucky if he landed a gig as a dead extra on SVU.

The receptionist opened a pair of double doors at the end of the hall and Jesse was led into a large office. At first he thought the room was covered in windows, but a second look showed that no, it was plastered from floor to ceiling with a hi res image of the Hollywood sign.

“Jesse!” He turned to see Saul Goodman, dressed in the brightest shade of violet he’d ever seen, with an equally bright yellow tie.

“Uh, Mr. Goodman, thanks for meeting with me,” Jesse said.

“Please, call me Saul,” he said with a toothy grin. “Mr. Goodman was my father.” He laughed and Jesse followed along, not getting the joke, but not quite ready to get thrown out on his ass.

Jesse sat across from Saul’s desk and as soon as the other man sat down he leaned forward. “No point in wasting time in this town - let’s get down to brass tacks,” Saul said splaying his hands  in front of him. “A friend of mine - a producer - saw you in _Cat’s in the Bag._ She loved you. She thought you’d be perfect for her next movie.”

Jesse wondered how a Hollywood producer would even come across _Cat’s in the Bag_. His friend Badger had filmed it entirely on his iPhone over the course of a long weekend as part of some avant garde bullshit course at USC. Jesse had taken a few acting classes at City College, so he thought, sure why not help him out with his project. Badger had given him a few weeks worth of weed in payment, and a credit line in the YouTube description. Jesse had dressed up like a homeless kid and carried around a stray cat for a few days. The cat had been cool with it and Badger was stoked by his performance, so Jesse had chalked it up to a good time. That had been in the spring, and Jesse was sure everyone had forgotten about it on YouTube as soon as a baby sneezed on camera or Tila Tequila said something stupid on Instagram.

“For real?” he asked, eyebrow cocked. “What, is it like some deep indie shit?”

“Hardly,” Saul scoffed. “Have you heard of Gus Fring?”

“You yanking my chain? Of course, _Pollos Hermanos_ is a classic.”

“What about Walter White?”

“Is this a fucking who’s who of Hollywood quiz?” Jesse asked. “Sure, everyone and their brother saw _Gray Matter_.”

Saul grinned again, but this time Jesse thought it looked genuine. Not the oily salesman trying to win him over, but someone actually excited about what they were about to say.

“What if I told you this film will be directed by Gus Fring and star Walter White? What if I told you Gus Fring saw your performance and _personally_ requested that you come audition for him this week?”

Jesse’s ears were ringing, or else it was the bright fluorescents overhead. He sat stock still for a moment, wanting to look around for the hidden camera, because this was a joke right? This sort of big break didn’t happen to someone like Jesse. It didn’t happen to a kid who barely knew he wanted to _be_ an actor.

“Jesus, kid, don’t just stare at me,” Saul said. “What do you say?”

Jesse laughed. Fuck it, he thought. He’d ride this wave as long as it lasted.

“Hell yeah, bitch!”


	3. Chapter 3

Saul was running through his meetings for the week when he faintly heard the sound of the front door opening in the lobby. Before he could register Francesca’s stern voice following the footsteps down the hall, the doors to his office burst open and in walked Nacho Varga.

“Mr. Varga,” Fran said with a scowl. “How many times do I have to tell you, you need an appointment. You can’t just barge in here!”

Nacho stopped, barely a foot inside the office door and swiveled his head to look down his nose at her. Saul’s secretary held her ground, something he’d always admired in her.

“Leave us,” Nacho said, voice deadly calm. Saul could see Fran stubbornly clench her jaw and return the stare. Nacho Varga left most people ready to piss themselves, but Fran had dug her heels in since day one.

“Ignacio!” Saul said from behind his desk, attempting to de-escalate before the staring match turned ugly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Nacho blinked and Saul could see his nostrils flare for a moment before he turned his gaze on Saul and stepped forward, leaving Fran standing by the door.

“It’s been over a month since I’ve heard shit from you, Goodman,” he growled. “What the fuck am I paying you for?”

“You’ve got to have a little faith, Ignacio,” Saul said. “I’ve been priming the pump.”

“My ass, you have,” Nacho muttered, and Saul felt a jolt of fear in his gut at the glare he received. Nacho Varga was one of his more volatile clients. The man left every project he took with a burned bridge or a black eye, and usually both.

“Patience is a virtue, my friend,” Saul said, plastering a mean grin onto his face that he hoped looked more dangerous than he felt. “You clear don’t want what I’ve got readily available --”

“I refuse to do one more chabacano telenovela or bit part as a fucking dealer.” Nacho leaned forward over the desk, staring down at Saul with palpable contempt.

The sound of Saul’s cell shrieking on the table did little to break the tension, but he used it as an excuse to drop eye contact. His pulse spiked in anticipation when he recognized the number as Jesse Pinkman’s.

“I gotta take this,” he said. Nacho didn’t move.

Saul swallowed and answered the phone. “Hey, kid!” he said, voice enthusiastic. “Great to hear from you. Can you hold on just a sec?” He put his hand over the mic and turned his attention back to Nacho. “Look, I wanted to wait to tell you this until I had my ducks in a row, but I got a friend - another agent - who’s working with this star of a screenwriter. I think she has something right up your alley. Y’know - intellectual, artsy, no stereotypes, yada yada.”

Nacho continued to stare at him for another painfully silent ten seconds. “You have one week to get your goddamned  _ ducks in a row _ , or you’re gonna fucking regret it.” At that he turned on his heel and stalked out. When he heard the front door slam, he sagged back in his seat.

“Y’still there, kid?”

* * *

Jesse was practically vibrating with energy as he stepped out into the LA sunshine. He had  _ nailed  _ that audition and he still couldn’t fucking believe it.

As he’d read lines sitting next to Walter fucking White, the legend himself, Jesse was sure everyone could see him sweating bullets in the only nice, slim-cut polo he owned.

Gus Fring’s expression might as well have been etched in concrete, for all it changed during the read through. Jesse could see why his performance in  _ Cat’s in the Bag _ had caught Kim Wexler’s eye, though. The role of the low-life, high school dropout turned meth peddler in  _ Baby Blue  _ was damaged and desperate like the homeless cat lover. If Jesse were honest with himself, he identified with the kid. If his aunt hadn’t intervened and convinced Jesse’s parents to let him move with her to Burbank to finish high school, he could have easily ended up slinging dope in the Valley after his parents kicked him out. He spared them a single vicious thought, wondering how they’d react if they saw him now.

After the audition, Walter White had turned to him and shook his hand. “Not bad for a novice,” he said, voice flat and difficult to read. “If you apply yourself, this could work out very well for you.”

“Wow, thanks, dude,” Jesse said, trying in vain not to stumble over his words. “Uh, I mean, Mr. White. Seriously, your movies are mind blowing. This is such an honor...” He trailed off, conscious of the anxious flush creeping up his neck.

Mr. White just looked at him - studied him, really, Jesse thought. “Thank you,” he said, and turned away without a word to speak to Gus Fring.

Just as Jesse was wondering what he was supposed to do next, Kim Wexler, dressed in a dark skirt and blazer and looking more like a lawyer than a movie producer, walked over to him and pulled him aside.

“Here’s my card,” she said quietly. He took it and looked at it.  _ Kim Wexler, Producer, Hamlindigo Productions _ .

“Uh, should I…?”

“You got this,” Kim said with a small smile on her face that was trying not to burst into a grin.

Jesse gave her a small thumbs up and cocked a questioning eyebrow.

“More like…” Kim said, and raised two thumbs up close to her chest. “Trust me, you’d know if Gus was disappointed. My executive producer is over the moon, too.” She gestured to a blond man in a blue pinstriped suit who was also talking with Fring and Mr. White.

“This is all happening so fast,” he said, mind already racing ahead to what came next. “Does it usually happen this fast?”

“Welcome to Hollywood,” she said with a grin. “Now you’d better call Saul and tell him how it went.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was after midnight, and Saul was considering calling it a night. After the kid had called him about the audition, he’d sailed through the rest of his client meetings on a cloud of anticipatory success. It was an indulgence he’d likely regret, but Saul had spent the last two hours nursing several scotches and watching Jesse’s  _ Cat’s in the Bag _ scenes on his flatscreen from the comfort of his recliner. He’d told himself it was a professional courtesy - getting to know his new client’s skills for the next gig that came along. He was just doing his job. He was still convincing himself when his cell phone buzzed. This late, there was only one person he’d answer for.

“I was sure I wouldn’t hear from you until at least tomorrow morning,” he said, pausing the TV on a close-up of the kid, a soft tentative smile on his face that made Saul’s ears ring.

“Well, I was sure you wouldn’t sleep until you heard some good news,” said Kim.

“Look,” Saul said, tearing his eyes away from the screen and sucking on the last of his drink, nothing left but scotch flavored ice cubes. “The last time I got excited about a promising client, she turned out to be a Nazi sympathizer. I’m not counting my chickens yet, okay?”

“Oh, come on, live a little. Gus is over the moon.”

“How do you know? Granite slabs have more tells than him.” Saul didn’t know Gus personally, but he knew his circle of agents, producers, and crew who’d follow him wherever he went. He was the Anna Wintour of Hollywood. He’d heard Brad Pitt couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“It’s part of his enigmatic allure,” came another voice, muffled, but Saul recognized it.

“Am I on speakerphone?”

“How else would I be able to hear?” came the voice again, this time closer and clear.  _ Speak of the devil _ , Saul thought. Lydia Rodarte-Quayle was arguably his competition, but Saul wasn’t stupid enough to think he could take clients from her - she was practically a household name - so they’d come to an agreement a few years back, and split a prime piece of real estate on La Brea. He was convinced she’d turn his office into her own private nail salon if she got the chance, but at least this kept his finger on the pulse of the Hollywood head-turners. She practically lived in Gus’s back pocket - at least when she wasn’t playing house with Kim.

“Trust me, Saul,” Lydia said. “We know because Gus had Victor clear his schedule. He cancelled Ryan Gosling’s audition for the same role. Ryan. Gosling. Be glad you weren’t the one to have to break that news.”

“Shit.”

“Plus, Erin told me Howard has her drawing up the paperwork,” Kim said. “The kid’ll probably have a courier at his door bright and early Monday morning.”

Saul couldn’t help but chuckle now as he let his gaze drift back to the TV, back to that pretty face that could finally put him on the map. A thrill ran up his spine: part excitement, part anticipation, and part arousal. The kid didn’t have a clue what he was getting in to, but he’d cleared the hardest hurdle. Saul could take it from there.


	5. Chapter 5

Jesse tapped his fingers against the glass tabletop and ignored the pointed look from the waitress who topped off his coffee for the second time. He couldn’t blame the caffeine for his nerves, though. The padded mailer that sat like a bomb in his backpack was the culprit and he refused to look at it again until he knew what he was looking at.

After he’d opened the packet and seen the offer, Jesse had stared dumbly at it for a moment, not comprehending what he was seeing. He’d been offered a role in a  _ Gus Fring  _ film, a fucking  _ Walter White  _ film. And he wasn’t some dumb extra, or even a bit part with a couple lines -- he was a  _ supporting  _ actor. And holy fuck, they were paying him...like,  _ a lot _ . That was when he’d fumbled for his phone and called Saul.

Of course, the man was late.

The cafe had been Saul’s idea - it was kitschy as fuck, like a grandma’s house on acid, with weird little doilies everywhere and walls covered in all sorts of bizarre cuckoo clocks. Jesse would bet money that it had a line out the door around 10 am, when the brunch bitches woke up. But it was barely 8 yet, and even his waitress looked groggy.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Jesse’s attention away from the decor, to where Saul Goodman entered in a bright blue tracksuit. Saul flashed a wide grin as soon as he spotted Jesse, and he wondered if the man ever slept, or if he was actually some sort of tacky Hollywood vampire.

“I take it you received a pleasant wake-up call this morning?” Saul asked, plunking himself into the chair across from Jesse and waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“That’s one way to put it,” Jesse mumbled, thinking back to earlier that morning, to the sound of his doorbell jangling off the hook for almost a minute straight before he’d stumbled to the door where a  _ Hamlindigo  _ courier stood patiently waiting to turn his life upside down.

Saul held out a hand, pinky ring flashing in the light. “Well, hand it over, kid. Let’s have a look-see.”

Jesse passed the envelope over, already feeling his stomach knotting up at the thought of looking at it again. As Saul slid the offer out and glanced over it, he reached into the pocket of his track jacket and pulled out a tiny pair of magenta reading glasses, which he shoved onto his face as he read through the file. He didn’t skim it, Jesse noticed, as he watched Saul’s eyes flick across the pages in front of him, which put Jesse at ease.

With nothing else to distract him while his agent read his offer in thorough detail, Jesse couldn’t help but take a closer look at the man. Saul had the classic Hollywood spray tan that somehow didn’t quite clash with his auburn hair. The tracksuit was obviously pricey, and Jesse had a hard time picturing the man wearing it to the gym. For some reason the readers, though, caught Jesse’s attention. They clashed so terribly with Saul’s skin tone, and were obviously a cheap drugstore buy. They didn’t match the carefully crafted Hollywood look that Jesse was used to seeing, and that gave him pause. They were still gaudy as fuck, Jesse thought, feeling an unexpected upward tug of his lips, but they were real.

After a few more minutes, Saul sat the letter down and took off his glasses.

“I’m really glad you called me, kid,” he said, voice grave as he looked at Jesse.  Jesse’s stomach plummeted.

“Yeah, I figured there musta been a typo or something…” Jesse said, already feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

“You better fucking believe it,” Saul said with a scoff. “Newbie or not, there’s no way you should accept such a lowball offer. Who does Hamlin think he’s kidding?”

_ Wait, what?  _ “Low?” Jesse blurted before he could stop himself. “That’s a  _ low  _ offer?!”

Saul looked at Jesse, amusement laced with appraisal that made Jesse’s skin itch.

“Even pre- _ Hunger Games  _ JLaw would have walked away from that,” Saul said.

Jesse sat there, mind racing at the thought of  _ more _ money, at  _ more _ zeros at the end of that offer. Across from him, Saul was flagging down the waitress.

“Heya, Wendy,” he said. “How about some more coffee - and, say, a round of steak and eggs?” Saul eyed Jesse questioningly, and Jesse nodded, suddenly starving.

Saul leaned forward, eyes turning serious. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid - and don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t need an excuse to go over there and give Howard Hamlin a piece of my mind. This is his twisted way of testing you. But that ain’t gonna work with me, as he should damn well know.”

The vicious look in Saul’s eye when he talked about Hamlin told Jesse there was a history there. He couldn’t help the image that rose to his mind - Saul in his tacky tracksuit nose to nose with the perfect smile and pinstriped suit of Howard Hamlin. He’d bet money Saul wouldn’t hesitate to throw a punch if it wouldn’t land him with a lawsuit.

“I’ll leave you to it, dude,” Jesse said. “But, thanks - seriously, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“It’s all part of the job,” Saul said, leaning back as Wendy the waitress arrived with their food. “Before you know it, you’ll be laughing your ass off at the thought of accepting that offer.”

At that, Saul tucked his napkin into the collar of his shirt and dug into his food. Jesse could do nothing but follow suit.


End file.
